Falling Stars
by sherkhansbitch
Summary: I don't know how long this is gonna go on for, but I'm going to try. I'll try and upload a new chapter as soon as I can. Enjoy. This is post-reichenbach, and I have no idea where it's heading. Please review, thank you.
1. John's Letters

Chapter 1: John's Letters

Dear Sherlock,

To be quite honest I don't see the point in writing these, but my psychologist insists. I don't know where to start... Sherlock. I miss you so much right now it hurts. I don't know what to do or say, or think. No one will leave me alone. They probably think I'm going to kill myself, which I have to say I have thought of. But then I remembered how everyone felt when you did. I miss you, so, so much. No one understands how much I miss you because they never knew how I really felt about you. It's been one month since it happened, and I am not holding up well. I try my best to stay strong but it's hard. I just don't understand how you could do something like this to me, after all we went through together, how you'd always put up a fight no matter what. To just give up like this, stop trying… It just wasn't like you, and I didn't believe it. I can't write anymore just now, it's too soon. I'll try and write later. I promise.

John.

Sherlock,

I know I haven't written a while, but I just couldn't get myself to do it. It's now been six months since your death and I still smell you when I walk into 221b. I still think that one day you'll be sitting in your armchair, playing your violin… But you never are. Ever. For the first few months I actually thought you could come back, that this was all a stunt, that you weren't really dead and this was all a joke. But now I'm starting to believe that you're actually gone and it makes it hurt even more. I miss you so much, and I never got the chance to thank you for what you did for me. I was so alone for such a long time, and I can't even imagine what would have happened if you'd never shown up. You changed my life Sherlock, and I can't begin to thank you enough. I don't understand how you could have left me like this, but I'm sure one day I'll find someone as amazing as you, who will make me feel the way you made me feel. I don't mean that I'll forget you, because trust me, I never, ever will. You are the most amazing person I have ever met, and I wish I could tell you everything I've ever thought about you. But I can't. And I will regret that for however long I live.

John.

Dear Sherlock,

It's the one year anniversary today and I've been taking it better than I thought. There's one thing that's bugging me the most though, the fact that no one remembers what happened. They all still think you're a fake. A fraud. No one knows the truth, and even I haven't told anyone what actually happened. Lestrade still thinks you're a fake, but he was very upset. Mrs Hudson was thinking about selling the house on Baker Street because she thought no one would live where the man committed suicide. Why did you have to leave? We could have fought this battle, together. Moriarty couldn't rule the world forever, we'd have risen above him one day. If only you'd have let me explain when you were up on the rooftop. I'm sorry, I'm grateful, I miss you.

John.

Sherlock,

I haven't written in a year and I'm sorry. And I don't know why I'm even apologising, you don't read these. You can't hear me. There's no God. If he was real he'd have never taken the most important person out of my life. "God takes the best ones first." No, please everyone stop saying that. It's been two years and people still, if they remember you, ask me if I knew you were a fake. And it makes me sick. You weren't a fake, I know you weren't. Even Mrs Hudson and Lestrade are starting to believe it. Believe the outright lies. If only you could come back and explain to them. Explain to me.

It has been 2 years since your suicide.

People tell me to move on. But I am never moving on. Ever.

John.

Sherlock,

This is the time where if you were here, we would ask you about this case. It is a Sherlock case, and we all know it. Oh yeah, I've got news. I took a course and I'm now working with Lestrade and the other Detectives. Donovan as well sadly. She still makes disgusting remarks about you. Even now you're… Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I'm almost happy. I don't know if I'll ever be completely happy again, but I'm getting there. Slowly. I still live in 221b, and I'm trying to find a new roommate. They'll never be you, but they'll pay the rent, and they might distract me. I've kept almost all your things, even your phone, armchair, violin, etc. They meant so much to you, and therefore they now mean so much to me. 3 year anniversary, so I'm going out to dinner to celebrate your life, your wonderful but cut short life.

John.


	2. Sherlock's Letter

Chapter 2: Sherlock's Letter

Dearest John,

If only you knew I could read your letters… You leave them on your grave. What a stupid place to, never mind. Mycroft told me you were visiting your old psychologist and that made me so upset. He gave me her notes about you and you do not seem at all well with yourself. And I am so, so sorry. But you don't understand what happened and I wish I could have told you straight away, about everything. But don't worry, I will. If you were actually reading this, you'd wonder what I've been doing, and to be quite honest with you, nothing. Just waiting, and waiting. I've been doing a lot of reading though. I even learnt about the Solar System, would you believe that?

You do not realise the pain it gives me to know that you're not okay. It's been three years and you're still not okay with my death. Mycroft told me that Moriarty's men are still around and if I magically came alive again, those people would most definitely kill us. I have to wait until Mycroft sorts them out. He's almost there, and I can almost see you. I wish I could know how you'd react.

Ha. Something I don't know. Maybe being away from you has put me out of character.

John, I am coming for you. I am.

Sherlock.


	3. The Meeting

Chapter 3: Meeting

Sherlock put his best suit on and walked out of his hotel room. No one even recognised him anymore. The warm breeze blew his scarf around his shoulder as he looked across the street into the restaurant. He could almost feel John already. He had been waiting so long to final tell him everything and explain why he had to do what he did. Finally, he can. His phone then rang for the 5th time that evening.

It was Mycroft.

"What's wrong now?" he answered.

"What do you think?" replied Mycroft, obviously very annoyed and agitated.

"I know, I know. But I just have to tell him, and see him. Explain everything. Why can't you give me that?"

"There's really no point trying to reason with you is there?"

"None at all, brother dear. Now if you don't mind, I have someone who I'm going to see."

"Sher-"

It was too late, he'd hung up the phone.

Sherlock knew how unbelievably risky this was, but he wasn't going to let an opportunity like this just fly by. He took one more deep breath and crossed the street.

"No regrets." He breathed to himself lightly.

Sherlock stood outside the restaurant and thought about what he was going to say, what John was going to say… He didn't know whether John would be happy, sad, angry, confused. It could be anything, it's John. The only thing he was certain of that was he had to do this.

One step into the restaurant he saw him. A waiter took his trench coat off him and hung it on a very expensive looking stand. It was a very posh restaurant, and he had no idea how John could afford it. He focused his look on John and started to walk towards his table. He stopped about a metre and away and said, "John." He looked up immediately to find Sherlock standing there, so close to him.

"W-what? I, what?" he stuttered, not knowing what to say.

"John, would you like me to buy you a meal?"

"No, this isn't real, it's one of my dreams again. Stop it. Stop this, now. I can't"

"John, I'm here, what are you talking about?"

"You're dead! You are, dead. D. E. A. D. This is a dream, just a realistic one."

"John, I think I have some explaining to do…"

John got up and started to walk away from their table. Sherlock called after him but he didn't turn around. He took another deep breath. This what not what was meant to happen.

"John, wait!"

He was already out of the door, clambering for 221b Baker Street. He called up a cab and got in it. Sherlock had to call Mycroft.

"Mycroft?"

"Told you."

"Yes, please rub this in later, thank you. Can you get one of your men to drive me to 221b Baker Street?"

"I did tell you… And yes, I will. But I'm not sure that's a very good idea. What happened anyway?"

"The idea is fine thank you."

"Yes, whatever. What happened?"

"He thought it was a dream, he was angry and confused and walked out."

"Oh, Sherlock, why couldn't you just stay away from him? His mental state will not be well if you persuade him you're real."

"I don't care, it's been long enough. Goodbye."

"No, not a-"

Sherlock cut his brother off again and stepped into the car in front of him. It was a short journey to Baker Street and he was getting extremely nervous and confused at John's reaction. Why would he act like that? Had it really affected him so much?

Looking out of the window, he saw that they had arrived at Baker Street.

"221b, was it?" asked the driver.

"Yes, thank you." He replied.

He stepped out of the cab and looked up at the window. John was looking out of it like a hopeless soul. He looked so drained. Sherlock decided it would be best to confront him straight on, for the second time that night.

"Deep breaths." He whispered to himself.

Even before people thought Sherlock was a fake, nobody thought Sherlock had any feelings whatsoever. No emotions, nothing. They were all wrong. Sherlock had a lot of feelings, he'd just chosen the path to not letting them take over his life, a weakness he saw in many people. He'd always felt so strongly about John. Ever since he first met him he could see the desperation in his eyes for something. Something he'd never had. And the something was him

Sherlock still had his keys so he opened the front door with little effort. Shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could, he gazed up the stairs he had longed to walk up for over three years. He then crept up the much loved stairs and walked into the apartment. John still doesn't shut the door, he thought. John was still gazing out of his window, sipping a cup of tea. He was using Sherlock's mug and it was steaming up with his breath when he blew it. Sherlock didn't know what to say.

"John?"

John jumped and spilt his tea over his hand.

"Shit, this is a realistic nightmare." He said.

John wasn't going to give in to this dream, he never did. When he had a dream like this he just waited, looking out of the window until it was over. But this one felt so much different.

"John, this is real. I don't know how to explain this to you-" Sherlock explained.

"No, no stop this. This is not real. You're dead, you're, you're DEAD! Since this is a dream, I'm going to say what I want. You left me, you left me with nothing but myself. Everybody thinks you're a fraud and after a while I tried to explain to everyone what happened, but no one believed me."

"John, John stop. Please listen to me, this is real."

Sherlock walked towards John and rested his hand on his shoulder. He saw on tear slowly drip down from John's eyelid when he closed them. Sherlock had never been more hurt in his life. He knew that it had hurt him, but he had never seen him this upset in his life.

"Shit, shit." John whispered, realising he was crying. He quickly wiped away his tears and walked away.

"You're DEAD! I can't, why won't I wake up?!" He shouted.

"John please just calm down. How can prove to you that this is real?"

"No, no stop it, just stop this. A-are you real? Is this, is this a dream?"

"No, please John listen to me. Don't talk, don't interrupt, just listen. This has been Moriarty's plan for me from the very beginning, as soon as we started to intercept on his plans, he has wanted to destroy me. But he wasn't just going to kill me, he was going to end me, and all of my success. Everything I've ever achieved in my life, he wanted to destroy. So I played along, but I wasn't completely sure what would happen in the end. Near to the time when I jumped off the building, I knew what I was going to have to do. I knew I was going to have to die, John. It was going to be the end for me. So I decided to trick Moriarty, to make him kill himself first. It worked.

"There were three gunmen. One aimed at you, one at Mrs Hudson, and one at Lestrade. Moriarty needed the gunmen to see me fall, and they wouldn't shoot you. That why I chose a tall building, I knew I could pull the stunt off. Mycroft helped me of course, he had to. I had to jump into the lorry which drove away straight away. They then pulled a fake body out, that's why there was no pulse. I am so sorry John, I never meant to keep you in the dark this long, I just never knew that you would be harmed from this all. John?"

"This is real. Sherlock… How, how could you? For so long? 3 years! 3 fucking years! Not a letter, a word. I thought you've been dead for three years, I-I…"

Sherlock then did something he had never done before, he grabbed John and brought them together into a hug. John rested his head on Sherlock's chest and breathed out deeply. He was crying again. These had been the hardest three years of his life, and he'd just found out that what he was upset about was false. He couldn't believe it. He was relieved, angry, sad but at the same time happy and excited. He didn't know what to feel.

"Perhaps I should go for a walk? Let you think things ov-"

"You're not leaving again. Ever." John mumbled into Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John. He was so unbelievably happy right now, nothing could ruin this moment.


End file.
